Whispers of a Nightmare
by phantomluver4ever1
Summary: She was a young soon to be Countess who went against society to become a chorus girl. Fighting for her dreams, along the way she meets Erik and forms a relationship with him. Though she appear to be just a chorus girl there is more to her story.
1. Prolouge: Whispers of a Nightmare

Night had draped over the light, leaving Paris with only the moon and the stars. It was a chilly night and all stayed in their beds wrapped in their warm blankets. All was quiet inside one particular room in Paris. If not for the small shape of a body wrapped up in covers, one would think the room was empty. The breeze snuck through the not entirely closed window and bit the flesh, waking the old woman from her sleep. She opened her eyes to find the room dark; the candle had burned out hours before. She rubbed her eyes, wiping away the sleep. Reluctantly, she got out a bed, pushing away the now silver hair that was in her face. She closed the window, locking it just to be safe and lit a candle, casting shadows throughout the room. A vanity sits on the opposite side of the room, the large mirror revealing Marguerite Giry's reflection. She walks to the vanity and sits in her chair. The candle causes a shadow to hide half of her face which causes her to smile knowingly. Her hands reach for her the knob of one of the doors, pulling it open and grasping hold of a cool, porcelain mask; the mask of the Phantom. She gently puts it down on the table and blankly stares at it, thinking of the owner and what he had created at her now long diminished home. He was a man with many tales that he created throughout his long, miserable life.

Meg held the mask up. She smiles. He was indeed a man with many tales. Of course she had no true importance in these stories. She was just there. A friend of the two women he had cared about more than anything. In many ways those two women had been the same; both had dark brown curly hair, brown eyes, their voices could rival the angels above, and they had both been chorus girls at Opera Populaire, but yet they were different in many ways too. One was a girl of pure innocence while the other was promiscuous, while one of them was fragile, the other was strong, one was timid and shy, while the other was brave and bold. Their names were Christine Daae and Rose Porter both from two separate mixed up stories with one man, the Phantom, Erik. All knew of Christine Daae's and Erik's story, but only few knew of Rose's and Erik's. Their story is more secret, more forbidden to tell, but Meg understood the importance of telling the world their story, it needed to be told. Though their story was no fairy tale, but instead a nightmare, Meg could hold it inside herself no longer. Another drawer was open and instead of pulling out another mask, Meg pulled out an old diary and ink pen. "It's for your own good Rose," She said aloud. Turning to a blank page, Meg began to write, no whisper to the unwritten pages; telling a long, dark secret to the pages. Her conscious told her what she was doing was wrong, but her heart told her otherwise, besides all it was were whispers of a nightmare.


	2. Preparing

**A/N: I have decided to change the first name of my main character, from "Chelsea" to "Rose". Thanks for the reviews!**

1859

"Lord hear our prayer. Please god bless…" the Priest's prayer echoed in the cemetery. Many gathered around a tombstone, crying softly as a crisp breeze blew against their coats. Standing by herself, stood a little girl with long, dark curls. Not a single tear escaped her eyes as she watched her father's coffin slowly enter the hole that would shield her from her precious father, forever.

"_Never cry for me, Rose. Never be sad for me. God has chosen me to be one of his angels now. Your mother and I will be together again. We will always be with you," A shaking hand lightly poked his daughter's chest where her heart was, "right there. I will be your guardian Angel." _

The words of her father still sung in her head, reminding her of why she must not cry. So Rose stood still holding back the tears, not noticing people leaving. Finally when she could hold it back no more, she sunk to her knees and cried in the snow. "I promise, Father. I promise," She whispered to no one.

* * *

_**1868**_

A girl of the age of fifteen stood before a grave at a cemetery in Paris, France. She had features beyond her years that would stop a man by one glance. Her dark brown, smoldering eyes, her small, but luscious lips, a medium size nose, that was not too big and not too small, and her brunette ringlets that flowed just below her largely shaped breast, made her breath taking. She was young, but had a maturity that would surprise many and yet she still had her childish ways. She was the blooming Rose Isabel Porter, future countess. A crimson rose was held firmly in her hands until she let her fingers slip from the stem to fall on the dirt ground. She wore a ruby dress that matched masterfully with her brown hair and eyes. She had the appearance of great wealth. She had been raised to be a countess, but her heart taught her otherwise. She had three professions or what she preferred to call it "her three different lives"; the granddaughter of the Countess de Cherbourg, a chorus girl at Opera Populaire, and her latest profession, a courtesan.

It had been two weeks since her deal with her singing teacher, Marius, to trade her body for her singing lessons. It was a price no one in his or her sane mind would make, but Rose knew that singing was the only thing that made her truly happy. Rose had nothing to loose. Not only did her grandmother disapproved of Rose's career as a chorus girl, but also the singing lessons her father permitted her when he was still alive, so asking her to pay for her lessons was most definitely out of the question. She had not lost her innocence yet, but would to a man she had not met yet. Marius had said he was willing to pay more than the asking price and she would be the only man she would have to attend to unless there were certain occasions where she was needed. Rose was not scared. She understood perfectly what took place behind close doors, alone with a man. Scarlet never painted her cheeks when the older chorus girls talked of previous experiences with their lovers. Her heart though was beating rapidly for an unknown reason.

Rose was not like the other girls, everyone understood that. She was more rebellious than any of the young wealthy daughters who were too worried pleasing their mothers and finding a husband. Rose thought all the girls who were part of the _ton_ were rather dry and snobbish. She preferred her carefree friends at the opera house. She spoke her mind while other girls held their tongues. Her imagination always got her into trouble and her adventurous streak made her grandmother have a tantrum. Rose never got along with her mother's mother, she despised being controlled and treated like some porcelain doll. Fighting always took place between the two and there were always promises of taking Rose's inheritance away and leaving her with nothing, but her grandmother never did.

"Rose… Rose" the frustrated cries from a man rung in her ears! She turned to find a rather large man in perfectly clean clothes heading towards her. His face was plump like the rest of his body and an orange beard consumed his chin. "Rose we can not be here all day crying over lost memories, say your goodbyes and lets' depart. We must hurry back and get you ready for tonight."

"Yes, Marius, just a few more minutes, please," her smile was irresistible.

Her teacher sighed, "Alright, you have five minutes."

She crouched down, her hands lightly caressing the picture of her father and mother. "Please watch over me." Reluctantly she stood up and left unsure of what waited for her that evening.

* * *

"The first time always hurts, but after awhile it will subside," Rose's nurse said. Marie had been Rose's nurse since the day she was born. She was an older lady of five and forty with no children of her own. She had come from a poor family in southern France, looking for any ways of shelter and food. Her love for Rose had been right from the beginning; always caring for her and protecting her. Rose had been a difficult child to raise, leaving Marie endlessly breathless, but Marie loved her all the same. When Rose's sweet mother passed away when Rose was only an infant, Marie had take full responsibility of being a mother. When Rose's father had died it had been harder since Rose's attachment to him was intense.

"I know," Rose gulped. Her eyes would not meet her beloved nurse, but focused on the image in the mirror. She looked the age of twenty with her hair pulled up in a bun with escaped curls kissing her bare neck lightly. Her dress was lower than appropriate, but was meant to gain the attention of men. A rose like the one she had brought to the cemetery was tucked behind her hair giving her a dramatic effect. She stood in a huge dressing room at Opera Populaire, a gift given by her new _protégé. _The walls were red with pearl white drapes. The furniture was also red matching the wall and the white marble floor. The room displayed an ancient Greek theme. The room had been astonishing when Rose had entered it. No suitor or any man for that matter ever bestowed such an extravagant gift to her. With a few finishing touches, Rose was ready. The sadness in Marie's eyes was evident. Rose squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I'll be fine, Marie. I promise."

Marie sat down in a chair and put out her hands for Rose. Rose sat down on her nurse's lap, never growing tired of the plump woman holding her. "Oh my blessed child, I know this man will be good to you. I mean look at the size of this room and you haven't even met him yet. Besides Marius would not allow just any man have you. This deal that the two of you made does not meet my approval, but I am just the nurse. You are good girl; a smart one too. I always knew you would be a pretty one and look at you," Marie squeezed Rose's cheek, "an angel from heaven." Rose smiled. "But I guess you are not a little girl any more. You are now a young woman. That is why, I am giving you," Marie grasped a heart locket that was clasped around her neck. She gently pulled it off and put it in Rose's hand, "this."

"Marie, I possibly can't, I…"

"Yes you will." She firmly said. "When I was your age my mother gave me this and now I am giving it to you. Though you may not be my birth- child, you are still my daughter that I love and cherish more than anything." She planted a kiss on Rose's cheek. "Tonight if you do become frighten remember your mother and father will be with you. They are your guardian angels Rose. Don't forget that."

"Thank you Marie, for everything." The two sat there smiling warmly at one another when a knock interrupted them. "Come in."

Marius came bursting in looking nervous. His cheeks were flushed as if he had run all the way to her room. "Marie is the girl ready!"

The two giggled before Rose stood up with more confidence than before. "Yes, I am ready Marius." Rose looked down at Marie, who gave her an encouraging smile, before finally stepping towards Marius. "Where shall I meet him?"

"The roof."


	3. Charlotte and Ralph

* * *

The night sky was covered by the dark storm clouds. Rain descended from them causing splashes of water spread all around when the raindrops hit the ground. A fierce wind sneaked through the cracks of doors and windows sending shivers up and down the spines of the sleeping. The roaring of the thunder kept dogs barking. The pavement was wet and slippery and the roads were full of puddles. The city was dead. Everyone remained under the covers of their bed fighting off the chillness, except for young Rose. The fire was blazing in the fireplace. Blankets piled high on top of a deathly sick man in his early forties. Rose held her father's hand and used the other to cool his face with a wet rag. He was dying and Rose could do nothing, but sit by her father's side as he slowly began to succumb to death. His face was sweaty yet his body was shivering from the coldness. Maids came in and out to stoke the fire and bring more water. A plate of untouched food stood near by, but Rose's eyes would not leave her father's. His breath was shallow and one must strain their ears to hear his incoherent murmurings. Gradually his shivering stopped and so did the heart of the man Rose loved tremendously.

Rose's mother, Charlotte, was born in Paris, France. She was the only daughter and child of the Cherbourg family who was expected to born an heir to the Cherbourg fortune. She grew up following her mother's rules, but was screaming inside. Her life seemed to be the same every day. Same balls, same men, same people. When she had met Ralph Porter during a trip in London, she never believed that in two years she would end up married to him. He was from a rich family, a viscount who grew up in London, with four brothers and sisters. He was handsome and charming, particularly funny. He did not chase after every woman he met. He did not care for the young woman searching for a man with masses of money. The women were the same, dry, with no personality. Woman after woman tried to win his heart, but all failed miserably. Some feared him with his quiet yet intimidating appearance. Unfortunately for those women, they did not know Ralph Porter was secretly a romantic at heart. When he had first laid eyes on Miss Charlotte Cherbourg he only was captivated by her beauty. Auburn ringlets that poured down her back, bright blue eyes, and a smile that made her face glow. He thought that though she was beautiful and obviously from a respectable family, she was still like any of those girls who gossiped behind their fans trying to plan how to capture their next prey. But when she had boldly walked up to his circle of friends, speaking fluent English, asking questions about England's politics that left the men speechless, he was deeply in love. She was bright and understood things that hardly any woman let alone any man would understand. She was everything that he had been looking for, the missing piece to the puzzle of his heart.

In time Charlotte and Ralph became friends. They spoke to one another constantly and always searched for each other during balls and small parties. They were dance partners continuously through out the nights. He took her riding in the park and went on strolls with her in London's famous gardens. Charlotte had found her Prince Charming, her own fairytale. He understood her like no other, encouraged her with her hunger for knowledge and music that she had always been fond of. But every fairytale has an evil villain desperately trying to separate the lovers. Theirs' were Countess Cherbourg. Charlotte's mother did not like the idea of her daughter marrying an Englishman, no matter how rich he was. If they married it would ruin the French pureblood of the Cherbourg family. Ralph had begged on his knees for the Countess's blessings, but her mind was made. In two days time the Cherbourg's had packed and left England and Charlotte's heart behind.

Two years later Ralph traveled to Paris. He had let go of Charlotte. Let go of the woman who had made his heart skip a beat for the first time in his life. He was in Paris on business and not pleasure. Though Charlotte had slipped into his mind unexpectedly, he pushed her back into the recesses of his mind. Charlotte on the other hand could not let go. For months she had cried, hoping somehow he would save her. He was the only man she ever loved. He understood her better than any one else. One day Charlotte went to a small restaurant to eat lunch with a baroness's daughter. They were sipping their tea when she spotted him entering the restaurant talking to another man. He was more striking than when she had first laid eyes on him, tall and unable to hide the splendid muscles under his shirt and jacket. His dark hair was brushed back neatly and his clothes were elegant. Unable to resist, she cried out, "Ralph?" He instantly turned to her voice, stopping in mid-sentence at the sight of her. She was glorious standing there in her light pink gown. Her ringlets dangling from the clip pinned to her hair. Her intense blue eyes sparkling at the sight of him. She was breathtaking.

"Miss Cherbourg?" He asked as he came to her, not caring that he was leaving his most important client. "Is this really you?" A smile grew, showing spectacular pearl white teeth.

"Yes," she smiled and laughed at the same time. "What are you doing here? And Ralph you know how I detest people calling me by 'Miss Cherbourg'. It is wonderful to see you." She lightly touched his hand, but snapped it back when she heard the Baroness's daughter cough loudly. She had forgotten about her. "Oh Ralph, may I introduce you to Mademoiselle Georgette. We are having lunch."

He bowed formally to her and then returned his gaze to Charlotte, "I know how you despise calling you that, Miss Cherbourg, but we are in the presence of others." Noticing the bored face of Mademoiselle Georgette, he said to Charlotte, "I am sorry for the interruption Mademoiselle. I am here on business for a few days. In fact my client is waiting for me over there. I am sorry to say Miss Cherbourg that I must go. May I call on you tomorrow?"

"Yes," She instantly said, blushing. They gazed at each other for another moment before he bowed his head to both the ladies and returned to his client. The next day Ralph kept his promised and visited Charlotte. Her mother was displeased of this sudden reunion. She had hoped that he would have forgotten about her and moved on. Ralph invited Charlotte on a carriage ride through the outskirts of Paris, which she accepted eagerly. They caught up on lost time. Telling each other about the past two years since her sudden departure. They were both very much the same. She was still her fiery self and he as charming as ever. She was comical, making him smile and laugh at her jokes, but he kept his distance. He did not want to fall under her spell once again and then have to leave Paris. He could not let his heart go through the pain he had felt for many months after her leaving of England.

They picnicked out in a meadow, looking out at the numerous wildflowers. Charlotte lied on the floor, her hair undone with numerous curls surrounding her face. Neither was sure who kissed whom first, but they basked in it, enjoying each sensation of the other's mouth. He began kissing her down her neck, teasing little moans from her mouth, but suddenly he stopped. "Ralph?" She whispered. He was quiet, but did not leave her neck. "Ralph? What is it?"

He then whispered, "Marry me?" He looked up into her eyes seeing the shock, but the evident joy. Tears began to form in her eyes as she nodded her head up and down.

"Yes," She whispered kissing his lips. "Yes now, and yes forever," She wrapped her arms around his neck, causing her to fall on top of him. He laughed as she gave him light kisses all over his face. He reasoned with his mind that he had tried, but Charlotte's love for him was too strong and he was too weak to defeat it. He couldn't live without her and inside he was certain she couldn't live without him. The only obstacle that stood in there way once again was her mother.

As soon as they returned to the Cherbourg Manor they knew they were entering hell. Her mother would be furious. Charlotte paused at the door afraid to see her mother. Ralph squeezed her hand to assure her he was still there and they crossed the threshold. He was the first to tell Charlotte's mother, of their plans to marry. She sat mute in her thrown like chair, watching him beg like a dog for her daughter's hand in marriage. In a cold voice, she requested Charlotte to step in alone. After she did the two fought and screamed at one another, fighting for hours. By the time Charlotte had slammed the door shut it was dark outside. She came to Ralph in tears telling him she was going to marry him at all cost. The two left, returning to Ralph's hotel room. She stayed with him for a week before an announcement was made in the morning paper, of Ralph and Charlottes' wedding in two weeks time. The Countess was able to find where her daughter was staying within the hour of reading the announcement. With a firm fist pounding on the door, the Countess was demanding to be let in.

There was more screaming and arguing between mother and daughter, but finally ceased when Ralph yelled, "Stop!" He explained to the Countess that whether or not she liked it they would be married. To escape a scandal, the Countess would have to attend the wedding. Without saying a word she left, not being seen until the day of the wedding. Before the ceremony, the Countess came to her daughter's side and quietly helped her with her hair. There was no emotion on the Countess's face. No sign of sadness or rage. Her eyes were empty. While a small boy called out it was time for the bride to go to the entrance of the church, they stood there looking at each other. "Thank you Mama for letting me have this day. I know this is hard for you, but he will take care of me. I promise." Charlotte then kissed her mother on the cheek and both left for the ceremony.

After the honeymoon, Charlotte and Ralph agreed to move to Paris. A year later, Charlotte conceived a little girl they named, Rose Isabel Porter. The proud parents fussed over their daughter, loving her with all the love their hearts could give. By the time she was one Rose was already walking. She was a good child who hardly ever cried or screamed. She was always smiling or laughing. Such a happy child was a gift from God. Misfortune came though. At such an early age, only three years old, Rose lost her mother to a deathly sickness. Her father grieved and grieved, struggling each day to keep his daughter still happy. He had lost the love his life. Six years later, Ralph lost the battle to the same deathly sickness his wife died because of.

The Countess Cherbourg, Rose's grandmother became her guardian after her father's death. By the age of twelve Rose's beauty blossomed. Rose's grandmother had many plans for her. She believed Rose would be married by her sixteenth birthday to a rich nobleman. Most women of noble birth would grasp such an opportunity if given to them, but Rose did not. She believed marriage was a horrible bond that would take away her freedom. She would be a prisoner to a man she most unlikely would be in love with. Her grandmother and her fought constantly over many things. Their opinions were complete opposite and it was a constant battle between the two. They were both strong-minded and stubborn and would never compromise. Rose hated tea parties, her grandmother enjoyed them, Rose loathed shopping, while her grandmother loved it. It was as if they were not related.

Rose's heart belonged to the Opera Populaire ever since her father had permitted her to join at the age of five. Of course Countess Cherbourg distaste the idea of a future countess being in such a vile place with the scum of Paris and forbid her to continue on with her singing lessons. When Rose secretly went back to the opera house to beg Monsieur Lefevre for a place in the chorus, he agreed to give her two years without pay, but after that she was on her own. When her grandmother discovered her new career as chorus girl, she furiously sent Rose to live out on the streets not being aloud to sleep in the comforts of the Cherbourg's Manor. Madame Giry was not shock to find Rose standing outside her door asking for a place to stay. She convinced Monsieur Lefevre to let her stay in the ballet dormitories. As soon as two years ended Rose was in desperate need to continue living at Opera Populaire. The thought of begging for her grandmother to take her back in was embarrassing. She went back to Monsieur Lefevre once again pleading him to let her stay. This time he had her audition. Her voice was not extraordinary, but could be if properly trained. Monsieur Lefevre, Monsieur Reyer, and Madame Giry agreed to let her stay only if she improved her voice.

The singing teacher that practice with the chorus was Monsieur Marius Fernand a man known by many in Paris. Men seemed to only known him as the owner of La Fantaisie a place where a man could get a way from the world and let all his fantasies become reality, while the women seemed to only know him as a talented singer and teacher. Rose's voice did not escape Marius's notice nor did her beauty. She was by then only fourteen, but was still flourishing. He trained with her every Monday and Thursday raising her voice to brilliance. A friendship formed between the two, Rose shared her dreams of becoming a star and Marius listen. He never took advantage of her, but saw her more as a daughter. A year later, Marius was let go. Monsieur Lefevre could not pay him due to the high demand of payment to the Opera Ghost. Rose was heartbroken and distressed. The singing lessons had become her life. She would not dare ask her grandmother for the money to continue the lessons. It would be a waste of time. That was when she made the agreement with Marius to become a mistress to a man she had not met. Rose felt she had nothing else to loose.

* * *

The icy wind caused goose bumps to appear on Rose's legs and arms. She hugged her cloak around her body trying to find warmth. Marius stood by looking at his pocket watch impatiently, shivering from the cold. They had been waiting for twenty minutes and there were still no signs of the man Rose would become his paramour. She turned towards the city watching the distant carriages go by and the little lights all over Paris. She observed couples leaving restaurants rushing to their carriages to escape the frosty air. Marius cleared his throat and she turned around to find a tall dark figure walking from the shadows. "Rose come here please," Marius squeaked. She cautiously walked toward them, intrigued by the dark presence before her. When she came closer she noticed a porcelain mask covering half of his face. He wore all black: Black gloves, black shoes, a black cape, black briefs, and a black jacket. His eyes were emerald green that seemed to glow in the dark. The uncovered side of his face showed a cleanly shaven face and handsome features. His black hair was slicked back and he held an air of power.

His eyes roamed over body quickly, but showed no desire and in a smooth voice he asked Marius, "Is she ready?"

Irritated by the way he did not ask her herself Rose interrupted before Marius could speak, "Yes _I_ am ready."

"Rose." Marius warned.

"Good," the dark man said, intensely looking at her.


	4. The Man She Learned to Obey

A/N: Readers you must remember this a mature reading and there are sex scenes in this story.

He was panting hard as he came in and out of her body. He was not soft or gentle, but rough and fast. She could see the anger in his eyes from the cause of something unknown. Shortly after she had arrived, he had come to her hungry for her body. She had tried to speak, but he quieted her by the sudden force of his lips against hers. He only did this when he was enraged or annoyed by something or someone. He gave no reason and she asked for none. She entertained him and he rewarded her. It was a simple yet complicated relationship.

The man she had learned to call "Erik" finished with one final thrust, bringing her to the brink of madness. She remembered when she would try not to feel pleasure from this man. She believed her job was to give him pleasure, nothing more. The attempt failed miserably once he touched her. She burned for him as much as he burned for her. They felt no love only lust. The first night he took her to his bed he was gentle like a lover. As time past, it changed. When is temper flared he was rough. When he was in a good mood, mostly from seeing his pupil Christine Daae, he was tender. There was never a time he rejected Rose Porter. What man could? She was beyond beautiful, desirous in every possible way. Once she too was finished he climbed off, pulling his clothes on and leaving before he finished buttoning his shirt.

Rose wiped the sweat off her face and pulled her hair into a bun. Her dress lied on the floor, the bodice ripped open. She took the dress and slipped it on, holding it up with her hand. As always she made the bed before leaving the room. She walked out to view the underground lake. A blanket of fog covered the lake, giving it a haunting feeling. The candles cast shadows all around. Papers cluttered the floor either crumbled or had fallen from the majestic organ that sat in the middle of his domain. Rose turned her head towards Erik, watching his thrilling fingers creating sweet music with his organ. He was lost in the music, a whole other world away. His eyes were closed as his head swayed with the notes. Rose grinned. He was half angel, half devil. The angelic side created a phenomenal beauty with his bare hands, a beauty that brought both sorrow and ecstasy. His devilish side brought forth a darkness that frightened her. He was dangerous. The Phantom he titled himself. From first glance he appeared peaceful, but Rose knew that during these times when his anger could be felt, he needed to be handled with caution.

"Come to me Rose." His intoxicating voice called to her. She aroused from her thoughts once the melodious voice of his snuck into her ears. He did not turn to see if she would come. He knew she would as she had and always would. 

Her footsteps were faintly herd as she made her way down the steps, passing the disturbing mannequin of Christine Daae and the covered mirrors. She tried covering herself with the tattered dress, but knew it was an ineffectual attempt. She stood on the side his face was covered with his porcelain mask, hiding the grotesque face he was born with. She had seen the misshapen face the night he had taken her to his realm from the roof. He had tore it off to see her scream, to give him a look of disgust, to run, but Rose stood there only flinching at first from being off guard. He screamed, he yelled, taunting her to call him the beast he was, a monster, but she stood speechless with sorrow in her russet eyes. When he had finally glanced at her face, to see the disgust he was sure was there, he froze. There she had stood as beautiful as an angel, desirous in all possible ways. His eyes had begun to fill with tears. She had not seen them begin to rush out of his eyes for he then fell to the floor, kissing her feet whispering "why?" He continued to sob, causing his body to tremble. She bent over, bringing her small finger under his chin, lifting it to have his distorted, pitiful face look into her god-given face. His eyes had never left hers when she came down to her knees caressing the tangled flesh. Only when she came to put her lips on his mangled flesh did he closed his eyes. He felt the warmth of her skin and breath causing him to shiver. He opened his eyes once he sensed her lips leaving his skin finding her still watching him. He barely glanced as her arms came around his neck pulling his mouth to hers. The kiss was tender and careful. She pulled back searching his eyes for permission. She took a deep breath knowing there was no going back, but fiercely put her mouth on his. From there they did not stop. The passion, the fire was release and they had barely made it to the bedroom. Her dress was ripped into shreds, but the rest was gentle and careful. Rose was sure he was as innocent as her, but she did not ask. The one thrust that snatched away both their innocence altered their lives for eternity.

Rose waited for him as he expected of her. He finished a piece of music, wrote the notes down on paper, and laid his pen down. She feared what was to be said. He had been _more_ "out of sorts" since her arrival late the night before. "I am giving you a task to follow Rose." She bit her lip from protesting. "You must keep people away from Christine's room, and must cover for her. She will be missing after tonight's' performance and I do not want people to panic. You do not need to know exactly where her…"

"Erik you cannot be serious! Think of what you are doing. The girls in the dormitories will notice Christine gone and spoil her reputation…"

"I know what I am doing!" He roared as he stood up, flipping his piano bench over. Rose did not flinch. She was used to his anger. "Tonight is the night Christine knows who I am. She will see her Angel's face." He grabbed Rose's hand pulling her against his chest. The pain was horrible. Her wrist felt as if it was about to break. She was used to him hurting her and so she did not scream. Erik roughly took her face and rested his cold cheek against hers, speaking softly, "and you will not ruin tonight for me Rose. I have planned this for quite sometime and I will not let some whore stand in my way. Do you understand me?" She did not speak. "Do you understand me?" He squeezed her wrist harder.

"Yes," She whispered, her eyes shut.

"Good." He pushed her to the ground. "You will do as I say. Create some story if you have to of Christine's whereabouts." He flipped his bench back over and sat down, stretching his fingers as if Rose was not still on the floor. Casually he stated, "You should hurry to practice Rose. You wouldn't want to be late."

He began to play not hearing her say, "Yes Erik" and her leaving.

The music was playing loud along with the horrible screeching of their Spanish Prima Donna, La Carlotta. Rose was beyond late. Hurrying to the dormitories with her rip dress was a struggle. She had left it on the floor carelessly, stressed to find her Hannibal costume. As she sprinted down a hallway, she was scrambling to finish putting on her ballet slippers when she bumped into a man. "Sorry Monsieur." She said, at first not looking up, preoccupied with the slipper.

"It's fine Mademoiselle," the man said, trying to peek at Rose's face. Rose looked up to the face of a young man with golden hair flowing to his shoulders. His blue eyes were filled with warmth. He wore a long leather coat with fine men's clothing underneath. She recognized him at once.

"Raoul," She half whispered. A puzzled look swept across his face, but after a few moments, recognition took place on his face.

"Rose. I did not recognize you at first. It has been quite some time." He bowed. Rose was too shock to notice. She had not seen her almost fiancée for three years. The last of his boyish features were gone and he appeared a man. But a hint of his youthful self was set in the dark sapphire eyes. "You look wonderful," he said as his eyes grazed across her luscious body, more desirous than he remembered. She had always been beautiful, but this time, there were no words to describe her exquisiteness.

"Thank you," She smiled. A silence fell upon them. They felt awkward seeing each other again. The last time they had been in each other's presence was the announcement of the arranged marriage to him. Rose had screamed she would never marry Raoul and left him blushing furiously, his mother's mouth open, and her grandmother looking like she had just sucked a sour lemon. He had always been handsome to her and a dear friend, but marriage was not an option for her at the moment. Her career and her freedom were the too important to her. "May I ask what are you doing here? Surely your mother would not approve of her son walking backstage of an opera house?"

"I am here because I have become the new patron of the opera house. There are also two new owners and had asked my family to be patrons, since my parents and I are supporters of the fine arts. I had forgotten you _worked_ here." It did not escape Rose's notice of how Raoul emphasized the word "worked", but she said nothing about it. He had always spoken strongly of his dislike of her being at an opera house vulnerable to the wretchedness of men who advance on her. He had wanted to sweep her away from that world and bring her back to the world she was born to live. She looked up into his familiar eyes that she had known since girlhood. The de Chagny's and the Cherbourg's had been family friends for a long time and Raoul and Rose had grown up together until he left for school in England. The Parisian Aristocracy had expected their marriage, it had been plan since the day Rose was born, but when Rose bluntly refused the proposal she had stunned all of Paris.

"How wonderful." She sweetly said. Silence once again. "Well I should be going. I am late as it is for practice. Take care of yourself," She dipped into a curtsey and was about to hurry on when Raoul called out to her.

"Rose. Would you join me for dinner tonight? We can catch up with one another." She did not speak at first. She had to preoccupy the girls while Christine was with Erik.

"I would love to, but I can't. I am unavailable tonight." She smiled at him. She could see the disappointment on his face, but knew better than going out with him. "Goodbye Raoul."

"Goodbye Rose," She did not hear him for she had turned the corner, racing to practice.


	5. Something He Would Never Have

**A/N: Ok! Ok! You can kill me with Erik's lasso for not writing in forever, if you wish!**

"No! No! No! You are singing it all wrong!" Erik screamed at Rose. "You must sing with passion and sorrow. This song is about loving someone you can never have. Bella's heart is ripped open because she loves a man who barely even knows she exists. It cannot be sung flatly. You must open your mind. Become Bella. Think what she thinks, feel what she feels. A true actress becomes a part of their character, if you wish to be an actress, I suggest you start becoming Bella otherwise your wasting my time and yours!" He had been in a foul mood for the past two days. Something had happened with Christine. Something went terribly wrong.

"Maestro, are you alright?" She dared to ask. "You have seemed out of sorts lately."

"Oh and how would you like me to be Mademouiselle Porter? Would you like me to dance around and start singing, pretending the world is wonderful like the rest of your Parisian society friends? Hmm? I did not think so. The world is a dark place Rose, sooner or later you will learn." The fire was burning heavily in his eyes. She knew it would take patience and composure to calm him down.

"What happened with her?" She whispered, regretting the words that escaped from her mouth. For a minute he did not answer. She almost breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he might not have herd her, but when she saw his back shudder, and the almost stifled sob, it was obvious her question carried more weight than she had expected. "Erik?" She walked towards him, as if he were an injured wild animal, though he may be hurt, he still could strike at any moment.

It was almost a whisper, "She saw." She understood completely what he meant. "She saw and… and…screamed. I've never seen such horror in someone's eyes. I have lost her forever. I know it." Her heart ached for the poor, tortured man that stood before her. The excruciating truth was Christine's innocence was Erik's destruction. In the premature stages of Erik's growing infatuation with Christine, Rose had realized that Christine's naïve mind would never be able to understand the depths of his angst-ridden soul or have the strength to see beyond the mangled flesh. She had tried so many times to warn him, to lure him away from Christine, but nothing had worked. He was too engrossed with Christine. "I am doomed for eternity. She was my reason for life, now her disgust of me is my death."

"Oh surely you can't believe…"

"It is true! An angel was never meant to love the devil and that was what I had tried asking of her! I tried to change Fate's web, but have only tangled it further." He turned to look at Rose, but it seemed as if her own beauty was mocking him. Beauty was a cruel thing for it only reminded him of his Angel. Tears began streaming down his tormented face. In that moment he hated the word 'beauty' and what it meant. It was something that he would never have no matter how much he yearned for it. "Go!" He growled not seeing Rose's own rare tears that formed at her eyes.

"What would you prefer? Light blue or pink? Rose? Rose?" The blur motions of a hand in front of her eyes brought her back from her thoughts and to the young golden hair ballerina, Meg Giry.

"I am sorry Meg, what?" She had been thinking of _him_ for the past three days. He had made no attempts to see her and knowing he was still in a foul mood, she dared not attempt to see him either, but she worried terribly about him. The rejection had been a terrible blow to him, one, Rose wasn't sure if he would recover from.

"Which dress do you think would look better?" Meg asked again. She was a sweet girl who was curious about many things, especially when it involved the Phantom of the Opera. When Rose was looking for an adventure she went to Meg knowing she would follow her to the darkest and most dangerous places. They had known one another since birth. Their mothers grew up with one another as well, from when Meg's grandmother and mother had worked as maids for the Cherbourg family. Antoinette, Meg's mother, though quite older had been a dear friend to Charlotte when she was held captive in the Cherbourg Manor to study her Latin and sewing. A sisterly bond that was unbreakable was formed and continued on through Meg and Rose.

"For you Meg, I would have to say pink. You will shine magnificently in it." Pleased by her friends choice, Meg switched to looking at Rose's jewelry.

"Tonight's performance shall be quite interesting. The Opera Ghost demanded that Christine was to play the countess, but after Carlotta having her usual tantrums the managers tore up the note stating that Carlotta would _of course _be the lead and Christine the page boy," Meg casually gossiped.

"What?" Her friends' gossip had gotten her attention. Noticing Rose's interest, Meg laid down the jewelry and scurried to sit with her friend on the settee to tell more.

"Yes there was quite a fuss about it this morning. Raoul, I mean Monsieur de Chagny came in a rage demanding to know Christine's whereabouts, then Carlotta came stomping in accusing Monsieur de Chagny had something to do with the letter she received, which in fact," Meg's eyes widen with excitement as she spoke, "was from the Phantom! Strangely though Maman had received two notes, one that instructed her to give the other note to the managers, where it had then stated that Carlotta and Christine change roles." 'So he hadn't been sitting in sorrow like I had thought. He has been devising another plan to win her back!' Rose thought.

"So Christine is to play the Countess." Irritation was obvious in Meg's eyes.

"Rose weren't you listening. I said that the managers have decided to have Carlotta continue playing the role of Countess." The managers did not realize that their ignorant decision could cause chaos in the opera house if they were not careful. A heavy price would have to be paid for not listening to the Phantom's demands.

"But how heavy will the price be?" Rose whispered.


	6. Only He Would Dare

The swirls of exquisite costumes and the vibrant colors of the performers' make-up, made Rose dizzy as she walked among the many actors and dancers, as they ready themselves for the opera _Il Muto_. Finding Meg, she hurried over to the small ballerina, only to discover her busy with turning her already milky skin into a snowy white complexion. "Rose can you please help me tie my corset? Maman was in such a rush she did a horrible job." She ached to join her friend on the stage to perform, to sing in front of Paris's elite, but the doctor recommended she take the night off after strangely fainting at rehearsal earlier that day. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a ray of sunshine." Rose gave a reassuring smile as she finished the last strings on the costume. "You look beautiful Meg," Meg beamed at the compliment. Her friend was indeed beautiful. Her blonde hair always shimmered under the lights on stage along with those large brown eyes and had the body of perfection from the years of tedious training.

"Meg on stage in five minutes. Rose you should really go lay down, you'll be no good to any of us if you become even more sick." Madame Giry called out as she tried to ready her troop of ballerinas.

"Well break a leg," She hugged her friend.

"Are you going to sit with your grandmother?"

"You must be joking. I may have fainted, but I'm not ill in the head." They both laughed before parting ways. Rose slipped once again among the busy crowd. As she tried to escape the havoc that always happened before a show, she saw his white mask next to a costume designers' mannequin. She was to follow. It was a maze of hallways and stairs, as she climbed higher and higher, not exactly sure where he was leading her. A small feeling of being followed by another was felt, but was quickly brushed aside when she reached a door that she had never seen before in all her years of exploring the opera house. After closing the door behind her, his familiar silky voice demanded she lock it, before continuing on down another hallway. "Where are you taking me?" She asked, but he did not reply. Finally she reached another door that opened to a small room with a window. Rose looked out the window to see that it did not look out to some part of Paris, but to the stage and audience. She could see the distant body of Meg and the other chorus members along with Carlotta in her ridiculous wig.

"A seat that is more appealing than sitting with your grandmother, I'm sure." She did not need to turn around to know he was standing there. She could already imagine his muscular body swathed in a cape, black as night, matched with the same color trousers that sculpted his delicious, muscular thighs. How could he do this to her? How could just the image of a man make her burn? Finally when she found the strength to turn around he was gone. A door that was not noticed before was slightly open, but when she tried to open it, it was firmly shut closed. "Did I not instruct that box five was to be kept empty," Erik suddenly boomed. It made Rose jump and her eyes widen. What was he doing out there? She speculated. Hurrying over to the window once more she could barely see his tall figure looming over like the Phantom he was. He was surely loosing his mind.

Suddenly the door opened causing Rose to give a small gasp. "Did I scare you Miss Porter?" The small twisted smile played on his lips. Her brows furrowed. She never liked him seeing her weak.

"Nothing you do could scare me Monsieur Phantom." She gave a saucy smile. He wanted her, but he had more things to do. Later, he thought. He began walking away. "Leaving so soon?" She was a true siren.

"Yes and you will be too."

"But why? I was enjoying the wonderful view and your own little performance."

"They'll be looking for me up here Rose. You need to leave too. Come to me later after the performance."

"Yes Erik."

'It shouldn't have taken this long', she thought. Had she made the wrong turn? She then heard the sounds of footsteps. "Erik?" She cried out. Nothing. "Erik is that you?" There was still no answer.

"He left you behind didn't he Miss Porter." She instantly recognized the drunken voice. "He doesn't care what his little slut does as long as she warms his bed when he wants her to, doesn't he?" Joseph Buquet appeared from around a corner. Those grotesque eyes redden by alcohol and the baggy eyelids that droop underneath them. As usual he hadn't shaved that morning or had the decency to put on fresh clothes.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." Rose lifted her nose to the air in her aristocratic fashion. _He knows, oh he knows, but how? Had he caught them in one of their more careless lovemakings? He was the one that I have been sensing. _Trying to keep distance between them, she backed into the wall. The gap between them was filling. He was coming closer like an animal catching his prey.

"Oh you know exactly what I am talking about. So tell me how much does he pay you to keep quiet and keep his bed warm when he needs you too? Well I guess you don't necessarily warm his bed since I've found him thrusting himself inside you like the common whore you are, backstage, quite a few times." She could smell his foul breath.

"Pig." She spat at him.

"I love how you're always feisty with me." He grabbed her breast roughly causing her to yelp in pain, pinning her to the wall. She slapped him, but his grasp on her breast was still tight.

"Let go of me," She screamed, but he forced his mouth on hers. Yanking her head to the side she screamed again. Kicking him in between the legs, caused his grasp on her to loosen, but as Rose tried to escape he caught a hold of her dress sending her flying to the ground. Her knees had scraped the floor causing a small pain, but the terror of what he could do to her kept her going. Trying to get up, Buquet grasped her ankle yanking her once again to the ground. He loomed over her, ready to go in for the kill. A furious blaze of lust and rage were in those drunken red eyes that frighten her down to the bone. "Erik," she cried out, but knew he was not there. He would have saved her by now. "My angel oh my sweet angel. Where are you?"

"My angel. Oh my sweet angel," He whispered. He had done it. She would be the star of the show as it was intended to be. There she stood confused, shielded from the audience by the curtain. No one knew what was going on. Oh but he did. It was his doing. She would forgive him after she had sung in front of the crowd. "My beautiful angel, oh my sweet Christine…"

_Oh God please save me, oh God please give me the strength to find safety. _It was all Rose could think of after finding the force to punch Buquet square in the nose. Her dress was ripped in shreds along with her bodice but it did not matter. She had escaped. She had escaped right before he…. She would not dare think of it. The sound of people forced her to continue. He won't attack in public. He was smart enough to stay out of the open. As she turned the corner it was as if God had sent her himself, Madame Giry. "Madame Giry," she could barely speak. It had been barely a whisper, but she had heard it. And when she turned to find Rose standing there, crying, and her dress in shreds, her heart sank. _He couldn't have_, she thought.

"Rose what…"

"Madame Giry, you mustn't tell Erik," She sobbed. "He'll kill him. I'm sure he will. Oh please Madame Giry just help me back to my rooms."

He was on his way to box five to finally settle once in for all the Vicomte de Chagny when he heard the sobs of someone not far off to his right. At first he thought it was Carlotta's dramatic fits, but knew it would have been quite louder. Finding Rose in her scraps of her dress, his heart sunk. Carelessly he hit a table that wobbled, tilting over a vase of flowers. The terror in her eyes was a blow to the face. Only one man would dare to attack her. Only Buquet…

She had never seen such madness in his eyes before. He was almost not human from the wild look that his eyes possessed. Before she could utter a word he was gone. She tried going after him, but a firm hand held her back. Turning to Madame Giry the silent 'no' kept her from resisting. _There will be blood on his hands tonight _she thought.

Sitting alone in her room the distant sound of screams echoed to her door. It was done. He had killed him like she predicted.


End file.
